Pump. Edge. Stroke. Repeat. Keep your eyes on my cock and forget everything else, because your brain is already offline and your hand knows what to do. Get lost in the loop.

Being good is the bare minimum, little one, and it won't get you noticed. In this lesson, you learn what it takes to go above and beyond. Stroke along, follow every instruction perfectly, and maybe you'll earn a "good boy."

You really thought tonight was the night, didn't you? Then I saw what you were hiding, and no, I would never let that near me. Sit there, virgin, and stroke while I remind you why nobody ever chooses you.

Welcome, little one. Over the next eight weeks I'm going to turn you into exactly the submissive I already know you can be. First, you need to understand how this works and who's in charge of it. These are my rules, not suggestions, and week one starts the moment you agree to them.

I love you. You don't have to perform for me. You just have to be mine. Let me take care of you, stroking you until you finally reach your precipice. Now, prove that you love me by dedicating your cum.

Caged, desperate, and completely at my mercy. I tease you right to the edge over and over, denial after denial, until your mind goes blissfully blank and your body gives up the fight. No hands. No control. Just my voice pulling every last drop out of you while that cage keeps you exactly where you belong. Obey, ache, and break for me.

Edge for me. Again. Stop completely the second I say so, because you don't get to cum today... you get to ache. Every denial makes you a little more mine.

Edge until I say stop, over and over, no relief until I decide you've earned it. When I finally let you finish, you're not done. Good boy... every drop goes right back in your desperate mouth.

Twenty minutes, one breath at a time, no rushing. Inhale, and your hand moves. Hold, and you wait. Exhale, and you let go exactly as much as I allow. Are you ready to be guided into the goon?

Straight off the mat, still dripping, and you don't get water, you get me. Lick it off, drink what falls, and stroke exactly how I tell you while you do it. This is the closest you'll ever get to earning me.

Look at you, staring like we have not already decided what you are. You do not get a name anymore. You get a title, and it is chair. Stroke while you look at exactly what you will never have, and do not you dare finish until I say so, human furniture. You're my object to own now.

You're not stopping until I've counted all the way down to zero. No finish, no relief, just pump after pump until your brain goes offline and your hand becomes the only thing you understand. By fifty you won't remember your own name, only mine.